


Colors run prime

by Ayzilia



Series: Not my kind [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Superman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayzilia/pseuds/Ayzilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Wayne-Kryptonian Treaty, Tim and Kon struggle to adjust their dreams, prejudices, and expectations to fit into the scope of their new life together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song “Whirring” by The Joy Formidable.

Kon stopped, exhaled, and slowly turned to face down the door. Just an ordinary oak wood door. Solid, sturdy, with a simple round door knob and some sort of glossy finish. Once, there had been a panel of frosted glass with the painted name of some editor set into it, but in deference to its new purpose as the door to a bedroom suite rather than an office suite, inlaid wood had replaced the silhouette window. In any case, Kon could probably make the thing buckle in two with a flick of his finger. Or cut it in two with his heat vision. Theoretically, window or not, he could see through it with one blink and his x-ray vision. Quite frankly, no rational reason existed for this door to look so very intimidating, menacing, or impenetrable. Except, of course, for the fact that it was Tim’s door.

Timothy Drake. His husband for all of one week.

Kon squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the door that had closed neatly in his face when he’d led Tim up here after the reception and hadn’t, to Kon’s knowledge, opened since… regardless of Kon’s daily cajoling. Just before his knuckles connected, Tim’s even voice sounded from within.

“What do you want Kon?”

Kon started. Well, that was sotra freaky. How did he do that? Like,  _every freaking time_? Kon quickly dropped his hand and tried to remember why exactly he’d come here again… oh yeah.

“Lois said dinner will be here in ten minutes. Clark’s flying in some of Ma Kent’s home-cooking,” Kon reported with a grin, half nerves, half excitement at the prospect of apple pie. Of Tim’s face when he tried Ma’s apple pie. Would his eyes go wide with surprise or flutter closed in ecstasy? Kon’s grin grew wider. He waited. No response.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and brought his hands to his hips. The silence dragged on. Kon’s eyes flicked restlessly across the door. Really, some response—any response—would be, yah know, civil.

Kon felt his temper flare and his smile falter; he was worthy of some sort of response, reply, indication of existence…

Then again, who knew how exactly things worked with human families? Or maybe even just with the Bats? Apparently, they weirded out other humans—considered freaky even by human standards. Maybe by their (freaky Bat) social contract, Kon shouldn’t expect a response? Or maybe Kon was supposed to keep talking? Did Tim think he hadn’t finished his thought or something? Maybe Kon hadn’t been clear? What else did Tim need to know?

“Dude!” Kon tried, “You don’t know what kinda treat that is! Ma’s cooking is the best!”

His enthusiasm disappeared into the black hole void of Tim’s side of the conversation with nothing to mark its brief cheerful passing. Kon felt his face twisting into something incredulous. Seriously! What the hell? What did he have to do? Spring into a handstand?

“You should really come out and eat with us,” Kon offered, but his frustration snaked around his words, twisting them into more of an order.

“No, thank you,” Tim answered in a tone so neutral it made beige look neon. “I’m fine.”

Ok, that’s it! End of rope.

“You’ve been shut up in this room for days man!” Kon did not  _quite_ shout, “I don’t have cooties ya know!”

“I’m aware.”

Then what the  _hell_? Kon raked a hand through what he could of his clipped hair and stared, lost, at Tim’s door.

“I don’t understand!” he protested, “Seriously, dude, you at least have to come out for food and water!”

“Alfred sent a care package,” Tim answered calmly.

“You can’t possibly  _live_ on your butler’s energy bars!” Kon actually threw up his hands in aggravation. In the silence he could hear Tim’s nonverbal “ _Watch me_ ” sharp and loud. He winced and tried again, “C’mon man. We can’t be that bad…”

Nothing.

Kon took that to mean Tim’s opinion on the matter differed. A frustrated huff exploded from Kon’s chest. He clenched his jaw and very purposefully did _not_ beat down the door. Rather, after pulling in a deep breath and holding it for just one short second, Kon quite calmly (with the greatest of restraint) placed his hand on the door knob. Slowly, firmly, curled his fingers around the smooth metal curve.

“Can we not have this conversation though a door?” he pleaded. Really this would be so much easier to hammer out if he could just see Tim’s face. Could reach out and shake his uptight shoulders loose. Hell, could just reach out. Period. Simple. Kon started to turn the handle, “Look man—aaaaAAAAAAAAH!”

The world whited out.

~*~

 

Kon sluggishly blinked consciousness back into focus. Bright colors, warm or smooth or rough textures, jagged and solid shapes all reoriented themselves in Kon’s brain, spinning before settling and snapping into place. Sorta. Almost. His brain still felt all swirly.

Kara knelt over him, her face surprised and her mouth twitching oddly…

Kon groaned and tried to sit up.

“Oh! Oh my… Are you ok?” Kara asked, before she lost her struggle with her facial muscles and a grin slipped out past her control. How she managed to look sympathetic and apologetic with laughter in her eyes and that smile Kon had no clue. He blinked again and focused instead on her question.

“Uh, yah,” he managed to answer. That seemed true enough. He felt ok-ish. Just…he shook his head slightly hoping to help everything settle further. Maybe actually start making sense. He scrunched up his face as he took stock of his body. “Tingles. Um?”

“I warned you not to try that Kon!”

Tim’s voice. Still mostly even, but now laced with… something. Couldn’t be concern. Slightly muffled. Still on the other side of his door?

Kon finally looked past Kara (now stifling giggles) and observed the small pile of debris he sat in and the hole punched in the wall before him, through which he could make out the hallway and Tim’s still steadfastly closed door. Kon blinked again as the truth coalesced in his mind. Tim had booby trapped his door. With electricity. Sneaky bastard.

“Some honeymoon period,” Kon muttered as he stumbled to his feet. Shook out his arms and rolled his shoulders. “Fuck.”

He blurrily stumbled through the new entrance to the vacant room across from Tim’s suite to the soundtrack of Kara’s now outright laughter and stalked down the hall to change his shirt. Lois would kill him if he showed up to dinner expecting to eat covered in wood splinters and dry wall dust and with holes marring his t-shirt. Fuck.

~*~

 

_Almost_ nothing—and really Tim couldn’t even think without qualifiers because as soon as he started with absolutes a more extreme example would materialize—could twist the knife of his new reality more than Kon attempting to open his door without waiting for permission. These people didn’t understand him at all. Didn’t see his most fundamental… _Of course_ he had added extra security features to his door. At this point in his life he didn’t even think about if he should; he just thought about how.  The measures he took, they were necessary. To keep danger out (slow its entrance) and to allow him some sliver of peace of mind.  No way could he settle down for even minimal hours of sleep with just a simple mechanical lock between him and the rest of the world. Anywhere he went (not that Bruce let him out of Gotham more than a handful of times, at least not until  _this_ )—first task: set security measures. How did Kon not… how could he be so naïve?

And damn Kon for making Tim feel defensive and guilty about a habit so intrinsic to him.

Setting security measures… that’s just what he did.

And what he’d had time to set up in the last few days weren’t even all that hard to bypass. Dick would have found a way around them in approximately four seconds. Bruce even less time (if only because Bruce wouldn’t spare the energy to flip or quip along the way).

But that was the essence of the point. His family could find a way in, because they knew him, and knew how he thought. Those who didn’t know him… that’s who those security measures were designed to keep out.

At this point in time, that included Kon.

But then, if Tim never allowed Kon an opportunity to learn to know him…

So the question, to Tim’s mind, became: did he want Kon to know him?

Tim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The healthy course of action here would be to permit, or even encourage, a close relationship between himself and Kon. Rationally—realistically—Tim knew, for his mental and emotional health, he had to develop connections here in his new (not his home) environment. Tim tensed against an internal shudder of anxiety. Rationally… screw that. He wanted to stay in this safe little cocoon. Be a hermit and anti-social and whatever else the outside world felt compelled to call him.

Tim rubbed his forehead and then dropped his hand back onto his desk.

He had promised Dick he would try. That he’d give Kon and him a chance.

Tim sighed heavily and stood. He stared, frozen, for a long moment looking down (not consciously taking in much of anything) at the constant stream of data scrolling across his laptop screen. Then he turned to face his closet.

He couldn’t close himself off. He had to try. And Alfred raised him better than to go to dinner in sweats and one of Dick’s baggy hand-me-down t-shirts.

He made his legs carry him across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim frowned at the suit jacket hung neatly over the back of his desk chair, debating. He didn’t want to insult anyone by showing up overdressed, but at the same time—Tim snatched up the jacket and tugged it on—he needed something to hold him together, to hold him in. And he didn’t have his cape to tuck around himself. Tim hurriedly buttoned the jacket closed and smoothed his hands down his front. At least his physical state could resemble someone calm, put-together, and organized, even if he couldn’t stop the unsettling chaos storming though his mind. He took in a calming breath and took out the palm-sized custom-built (by him) computer that served as his PDA, cell phone, and MP3 player to type in the correct series of commands to disable the door’s defenses temporarily. They would reset when the door closed behind him.

The bar on his screen turned green and Tim reached for the doorknob. One turn, one pull, two steps, and his (relatively) safe haven was behind him. The door shut with a soft click and the bar on the screen turned red. Tim stared, eyes unfocused, at the screen for a long extended moment. He could do this. Just had to stay calm.  He tucked his mini-computer inside his jacket and straightened his golden tie with a (not so) steady hand.

His family had trained him to take on anything as Robin: psychotic metas, a rioting city, corrupt politicians and CEOs, vast criminal organizations, drunken or drugged-out street level offenders, or any other conceivable threat to the people of Gotham… but he wasn’t in Gotham and he didn’t have Bruce and Dick on a comm-link in his ear and he wasn’t Robin any longer. Just Tim Drake-Wayne. Now Kon-El’s husband. Apparently, treaty bargaining chip and currently mopey teenager. Tim scowled at himself inside his head. 

He could do this. He could go to dinner and act civil and make sure this treaty worked out and stabilized Gotham a bit more and Bruce and Dick would be proud of him. Bruce told him this was as important a duty as Robin ever was.

He’d been skirting that duty the past few days and, frankly, that was unacceptable. Tim walked towards the light and noise at the end of the hallway.

Intimidating noise. Happy noise. Laughter mostly, cut with the soft murmur of (apparently) amusing comments. A sputtering Tim _knew_ came from Kon. A rich chuckle that could only emanate from Superman. A peal of high clear notes tapering into staccato giggles—probably Kara, taking into account what he’d heard through his door after Kon tried to open it—mixed with counternotes of snickering Tim suspected to be from Lois Lane. Tim grimaced a bit at the idea of sitting down with Mrs. Lane. She might be another human in the room, but she’d stuck by her then-boyfriend-now-husband when he’d revealed his alien origin to the world and she remained steadfast. From her file on the Bat-computer (which Tim had studied and added to extensively) complete with news clips and sound bites, he knew Lois Lane had no patience with “Wayne’s suspicious nature” and the “Gothamite mindset” and humankind’s xenophobia.

In a series of editorial articles published in the weeks after the riots started, she’d written “prejudice is crippling this country” and ordered people to “get over fears rooted in ignorance” and in general used every last ounce of her influence as a celebrated journalist to attempt to convince the world to allow the Kryptonians the chance to show their colors one way or another. She remained confident most would follow Superman’s example and leadership to become valued citizens. Those who caused trouble… well, every society had their bad eggs. Just look at the state of our prisons, she argued.

Shortly after that the Kryptonians were granted a status similar to the American Indians and Metropolis became the first “reservation” established. However, the riots across the country continued. Soon the federal government fell apart as most major cities (with Gotham leading the charge) demanded the right to enact their own policies regarding Kryptonians. Tim vividly remembered his first night at Wayne Manor watching a news broadcast of a second wave of Kryptonian ships landing in the fields around Smallville and effectively ending any debate. The federal government still existed after that night, but mostly to mediate conflict. The city-states were in charge.

Tim paused at the threshold of the open main room. What had once served as the bullpin for The Daily Planet’s top reporters had been converted into a spacious living and dining area with floor to ceiling windows letting in the glittering light of the surrounding city. Tim frowned at the skyline, automatically searching out good rooftops to land on, to take a breather on, or to survey from and marking landmarks in his vault of a memory for easy orientation.

So much brighter than Gotham. Even after a week here, Tim’s eyes (and heart and mind) seemed to have trouble adjusting.

Kon noticed his presence first.

“Tim!” He bounded up from his chair beaming, “Wow.”

Tim shifted at the glowing attention, self-conscious and confused. Kon wasn’t mad about earlier? Jason or Damian would be swearing sweet revenge, probably focusing the majority of the threats towards Tim’s physical well-being. Even Dick would be grinning evilly, though he preferred embarrassing Tim to doling out colorful new bruises. But Kon just looked… honest and honestly happy to see Tim, even though Tim had blown the guy through a wall half an hour ago and then arrived late and in a suit when everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts (or in Clark’s case flannel). Yah, Robin training didn’t exactly cover this.

When in doubt, go for neutrality. Tim kept his face impassive and tucked a hand casually in his pants pocket. Lois raised both eyebrows and threw a biscuit across the table. It smacked Kon directly on his left temple. Kon just grinned brighter as he turned to look at her.

“Stop acting like a dunce and grab the boy a chair,” Lois instructed with an expectant expression. Clark just chuckled again.

The younger two members of the little family snapped to, Kon flying across the room to produce another chair from  _somewhere_ while Kara shifted dishes and place-settings to clear a space. Kon slid the chair into the newly-made vacancy between him and his cousin and then disappeared through a door that (judging from the sounds Kon made as he most likely opened and closed cabinets and drawers) led to the kitchen.

Meanwhile Kara smiled and patted the seat of the empty chair next to her, “Come on down Tim.”

When Tim remained hesitant, Clark also grinned and beckoned.

“Glad you could join us Tim,” He insisted jovially.

Slowly, cautiously, Tim moved forward and around the table to the extra chair. Still silent, still excruciatingly aware of everyone watching. However intended, the Supers’ smiles unsettled Tim, rather than comforting or calming him at all.

He sat down and scooted his chair up to the table, his eyes moving restlessly from Kara next to him to Clark and Lois across from him, his ears continuing to track Kon clanging around in the kitchen.

“So Tim,” Lois broke the awkward bubble as she planted her elbows on the table and leaned in with a quirked eyebrow and a barely buried aggressive spark in her eyes, “Kon and Kara were just regaling us with their adventure with your door.”

Kara knocked her elbow gently against Tim’s arm and gave what he suspected she intended to be a grin of cheerful camaraderie.

Tim understood her even less than Kon.

But his more immediate concern… He could only frown at Lois. He honestly didn’t know what she expected him to say to that other than “No Comment”.

Lois simply smirked at his silence and leaned back to continue, “How’s your week been holed away in your room? Productive?”

“Now Lois,” Clark covered her hand on the table,  gave it a tender squeeze, then turned to Tim with a smile, “You know Tim if you ever feel cooped up, there’s a gym with anything you might need just one floor down. Dick approved all the equipment himself.”

Tim nodded politely, his face neutral once more, “Thank you Mr. Kent. I’ll be sure to check it out.”

“Please, call me Clark.”

Tim just nodded again.

“I’ve never seen a human work out before,” Kara confided, “Especially with all the gymnastics stuff you Bats are supposed to be able to do. Can I maybe, um, watch?”

“Ah, it’s just routine stuff. Not that exciting.” Tim glanced at Kon, who looked disturbingly eager as he set a placemat, plate, glass, and cutlery in front of Tim before dropping into his own seat.

Kara just blinked at him, waiting for more. Totally expecting Tim to acquiesce.

“Ok?” Tim offered feebly. Kara had seemed nice enough so far. No need to isolate himself farther by pushing her away, but for all that he had spent a majority of his life watching others (Batman and Robin and Dick and Jason and Bruce), Tim didn’t appreciate being openly observed by strangers. Bruce, Babs, and the other Bats, sure. Surveillance constituted an expression of... care (love) within the family. Dick or Jason watched him train all the time—calling out corrections, instructions, teaching—but here… Tim just felt a bit weirded out.

“Is it cool if I come too?” Kon grinned between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

“Ah, sure…” Tim figured he might as well. Maybe he could talk Kara or Kon into sparring with him. That way he could observe in person the capabilities of Kryptonians as strong as the Supers. And figure if any of the strategies Dick and Bruce had drilled into him would yield any success in practice.

From what he’d read in Bruce and Babs’ files he sort of doubted it. Without some variety of Kryptonite or a floodlight with a red filter, there wasn’t much a non-powered human could do against a Kryptonian. Which is what fueled the fear, of course. The bottom line in this entire conflict. No one liked to be powerless. No one liked the possibility of an entire race of super-beings who could crush or fry humanity if they have a bad enough day.

Tim poked with his fork at the fried chicken Kara plopped on his plate, suddenly quite nauseous, excruciatingly aware of the danger embodied in the beings surrounding him.

He couldn’t keep any Kryptonite. The treaty forbade it.

And tugging around a floodlight wasn’t exactly subtle.


	3. Chapter 3

Kon hadn’t ever made a habit of showing up early. Or even on time. Arriving early meant having to wait. Waiting meant long empty stretches of time to think. And rethink. And over-think.

So Kon made a habit of showing up just a little (ok, sometimes a lot) late. Then he could jump right into the action. Kon knew he was better with the actioning than the thinking. Just one of those things. Fact of life sorta things. But today, well, he’d had a choice of waiting and thinking and rethinking and over-thinking in his bedroom or waiting and thinking and rethinking and over-thinking here. In the gym.

Deciding factor: the newly redesigned gym had more space than his bedroom to accommodate pacing. Also, higher ceilings for when pacing failed to alleviate the nervousness driving him bonkers. Last night, Tim had simply shown up unexpectedly. Like _really_ unexpectedly. Now, anticipation… well, Kon thought he might start punching things soon. Maybe then he’d feel more settled. And maybe then he wouldn’t accidently tackle-hug Tim when (if) he finally got here. Maybe then he wouldn’t accidently punch Tim right in the face when (if) he finally got here.

Tim seemed the type to arrive perfectly, precisely, punctually on time.

He also seemed to type to _not_ appreciate tackle-hugs (or punches to the face).

Probably because it’d mess up his fastidious neatness.

Kon grimaced, unsettled and angry about feeling so. Angry at whatever he was feeling for Tim for mucking everything up. This used to be simple. Good guy punch bad guy. Bad guy equated some goon (or Lex Luthor) breaking the law or hurting someone or being… bad. Bad guy goes to jail. Good guy gets hot guy or girl; they have fun, life is good. Rinse. Repeat.

But his stupid new husband and his stupid Bat-family apparently didn’t do black and white.

And it pissed Kon off because he wanted to like Tim. Even _like_ Tim like Tim. Wanted to be all over Tim like _whoa_ , but… Kon didn’t think—no, knew, he _knew_ he couldn’t approve of the sorts of shades of grey Tim apparently indulged in. And fucking hell! Liking someone (like _like_ like) had never before been so… so fucked up and confusing and disjointed. It used to be simple.

Kon did a loop-de-loop (because he freaking _could_ ) and happened to look down while upside-down to spot his cousin smirking, hands on her hips, waiting on the floor for him to notice her. Kon quickly pasted on a wide grin for her benefit and buried as much of his agitation and his perturbation and his general anger and all little flecks of betrayal and self-recrimination as deep within his consciousness as he could manage as he sank down to his waiting, teasing, untroubled cousin.

When she saw that she had his attention, her grin grew (both in merriment and _evil_ ). She shook her golden hair off one shoulder and announced, “You so totally owe me for this.”

Kon stopped his descent from the ceiling about half-way down, confused and thrown. What the hell was Kara on about?

So Kon scoffed, “What? How…?”

Kara rolled her eyes before clasping her hands together up by the side of her face, scrunching up her shoulders, and flashing a wide false grin. She pitched her voice obnoxiously high.

“‘I’ve never seen a human train before,’” she mimicked herself. Then in her true voice, dry as desert bone, “Seriously? Cousin, I set this up for you.”

His eyebrows knotted in skepticism? Bafflement? Kon couldn’t be sure himself exactly _what_ he was feeling at this point. Just as he couldn’t stop the more genuine grin from tugging his lips up. He could never stay brooding for _too_ long. In the grand scheme of things, all his moods burned laser hot and quick.

Kara giggled, “I know you want to spend time with Tim. Opportunity presented itself and I seized it. I am far less threatening—”

Kon opened his mouth to protest. He wasn’t intimidating (except on the street); he was _charming_.

Kara held up a hand to halt his unformed protest and continued, “—less threatening to him.”

A half-chuckle half-snort escaped him as Kon just shook his head and allowed Kara to make her case.

“It would have been a little… off-putting if you had asked to meet him in the gym,” Kara wrinkled her nose at the thought, “but if you asked second—as you did—Tim knew he already had a chaperone in place and would be more likely to agree—as he did. So in conclusion: _you_ owe _me_.”

Kara emphasized the last bit by poking Kon right in the center of the S-shield covering his chest as his feet finally connected with the floor.

“Thanks to my awkward genius you get to see your boy-toy all sweaty and panting from exertion.” Kara smirked conspiratorially, “And the groveling can start now.”

Kon took a moment to process and then he matched his cousin’s smirk.

“Kara, I love you,” he laughed.

In return, Kara gave a facetious, mockingly magnanimous half bow, giggles still petering out like a wind chime. Yet as she straightened up her eyes caught on something over his shoulder and the giggling stopped. The smile faded. Kon knew who stood just a few yards behind him. Now that he was listening, he could hear the slightly elevated heart rate. Tim.

Kon spun around. Tim looked exceedingly calmer than the rhythm of his heart would suggest. He stood, muscles relaxed, face blanked, in what looked like the base of his “Robin” uniform. No cape or gauntlets or belt or mask, but form-fitting and armored. Red and black. Sleek. Blue eyes watched him unblinkingly as Kon stared, swallowed, shifted.

His brain really needed to stop going offline every time he saw this guy. Talk about inconvenient. Tim glanced down at the floor and somehow Kon knew, just knew, that Tim had overheard. He looked nervously over at his cousin. What the hell was he supposed to say in a situation like this? Um, sorry my cousin lured you out of your safe place so I could ogle you. Wanna lift some weights so I can do just that? Or stretch! Don’t you need to stretch to warm up?

Kara took a fortifying breath and stepped a bit forward. She shrugged, “I honestly haven’t interacted with many humans.”

Tim nodded at the floor before looking back up, his eyes flicking back and forth between them, and grinning ruefully. Awkwardly. He really was adorable in a sad way. Kon felt himself subconsciously grinning back.

“I can understand being curious,” Tim forgave softly, “After all, you all are the only Kryptonians I’ve been around that I haven’t been warding off with Kryptonite.”

Kon stopped smiling. Tim dropped his grin as well, his eyes going wide as he realized just what he’d said and to whom. He blinked and held his hands out, palms open.

“Occasionally, an ambitious crime boss in Gotham will import some extra meta-muscle,” Tim explained. “Kryptonians are rare, but they do show up. Bruce likes to take care of the problem quickly, so… Would it suffice to say I’m curious too?”

Tim looked a little nervous and uncomfortable around the edges, but Kon didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Tim just kept digging himself a deeper hole. Everything laughing with Kara had pushed aside came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. That unsettled feeling rushed like a burning chill through his veins. He felt sick, he felt contained, he felt… he _hurt_. He fisted his hands and bit out, “But in a professional hitman sense, not in an anthropological-let’s-see-how-to-merge-societies sense.”

“I’m not a hitman,” Tim denied immediately. He shook his head slightly (his longish hair flopped over his brow again and why did Kon have to keep noticing these things, it made everything so much harder) and his lips twitched down in a frown. His heart sped.

Glaring straight into Tim’s eyes, Kon growled, “Lois researched you.”

Kon remembered her face when she stopped by his room the night before, worried and conflicted in a way Kon had never before witnessed. Lois had always seemed to personify aggressive confidence, but then—eyes downcast, chewing on her lip, tapping the old-fashioned paper file she held in her right hand on the palm of her left—she looked uncertain.

“I noticed your mooning over Tim at dinner,” she’d said. “I’m not looking to sabotage anything, but before your raging hormones carry you down some fanciful yellow brick road to a world where fucking will magically bring about world peace… I think you should be informed.”

Her lips quirked into a bitter smile; her voice saddened.

“Knowledge is power. The truth shall set you free. All that,” she sort of muttered before she took a steadying breath and held out the file for him to take.

She closed her eyes momentarily before looking at him with determination. “I love Clark, but he can be so goddamn naïve. Tim Wayne is a trained killer; predisposed to suspicion and brainwashed to hate.

“My advice would be to guard your heart and watch him. Closely.”

She left.

Now Kon glared into harsh blue eyes and well, he’d never played at subtlety. Kon appreciated directness, bluntness. No hidden meanings, no secrets, no games, no influence from his Luthor DNA. No, he preferred to just lay his mind out there and let the truth land like a good solid punch.

So he did.

“The longest stretch of time you ever spent out of Gotham away from that bigoted mentor of yours was the year you trained with Lady Shiva,” Kon bit out, still angry he had to have the knowledge festering in his brain at all, “Do you have any _idea_ how many murders she’s responsible for? How many were you at hand for? How many did you assist in?”

Tim’s face lost all animation. His features didn’t harden, just went utterly blank. When he spoke, his voice was the same: soft, rational, even, utterly devoid.

“I’ve never killed anyone,” he answered, emptied eyes looking directly into Kon’s.

Kon felt a hint of red creep into the edges of his vision from frustration. Dammit he’d been up all night with this crap running his mind in circles! He growled, “That’s not an answer.”

Tim didn’t look intimidated. Just blank. Like a sociopath.

At Kon’s side, Kara frowned, “I didn’t know you trained with Shiva. She’s rumored to have killed dozens of Kryptonians.”

Tim just pressed his lips into a thin, thin line, “She chose me. Bruce sent me overseas after my parents died and riots were tearing the city apart. With Jason hurt and Dick trying to hold New York and the Titans together Bruce didn’t have the time to train a new Robin. Shiva found me. She _chose_ me. I don’t always agree with her ideology, I know she’s dangerous, but she—she made me better. She made me good enough to go back to Bruce and Dick and Jason and be _useful_.”

“Tim, deporting Kryptonians, discouraging all metas, out of your city is one thing—and plenty bad enough—but the League of Assassins has been _hunting_ us. I—” Kara clenched her hands, shook her head, obviously incredulous, and left.

Tim watched her departure. His brows furrowed just slightly as the door shut behind her. Kon didn’t look. He didn’t take his eyes off Tim. He wished he could at least tell himself it was only the danger contained in that thin fragile frame that kept his eyes glued, but even with the empty expression and emotionless eyes, Kon couldn’t deny that he was totally taking the opportunity (any opportunity) to look Tim over (check him out).

Tim turned his gaze back to Kon and his eyes no longer looked quite so blank. Something in them had hardened.

“You don’t trust me, fine. I don’t trust _any_ of you either, so it’s mutual. We don’t have to _live_ together; we just have to co-exist,” Tim stated.

Kon snorted, “How am I supposed to ‘co-exist’ with you plotting in your room all day? Why did Batman agree to this anyway? To place one of his pet hitmen on the inside?”

Tim snapped, “I’m not an _assassin_. I don’t kill. I protect my city.”

Tim stopped. His eyes pressed closed for a brief moment as he took two deep breaths. His brow smoothed out. Then calmly, voice even once again, he continued, “As for Bruce, my current conjecture regarding his agreement to this treaty relies heavily on his hope for a steady stable world. I _understand_ his stance against metas in the city he is responsible for. Metas have the potential to do more damage than a non-powered human. Or… well, for a human to do the same amount of damage, there has to be planning; supplies, tools, have to be gathered. And we can track those supplies and shut a bad situation down before people are hurt. Metas introduce a less predictable element. They, by nature, make the city less secure. All they need is a bad enough day and we can’t predict or track that.”

Tim took another deep steadying breath, “Bruce lives in a world of suspicion, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see where sustained mass suspicion is detrimental to society. This cold war is poison. It makes people antsy. Makes the whole city stand on edge. Bruce will always have contingency plans, always prepare for the worst, but only because he wants everything to work out. A public union of a human and a righteous Kryptonian should go a long way to alleviating some fears and counter-acting some of that poison.”

Cheeks slightly flushed, Tim crossed his arms over his chest (hugging himself again) and looked down. Embarrassed, Kon realized. But, jeez, what was he suddenly so embarrassed about? It was cute. Wait, no, it was probably a trick. Hadn’t he been worried about Tim using his gorgeousness to put Kon off his guard? Well, it wouldn’t work.

Except that the majority of Kon’s anger had drained away in the sudden absence of that empty (wrong) stare. His voice came out gentler than he intended, “What do _you_ think about the treaty?”

Blue eyes, full of dozens of mixed tumbling emotions flicked up. Tim frowned, “I just told you.”

“No,” Kon snapped, then caught himself and tried to modulate the dregs of anger in his voice as he continued, “you gave me a lecture on what you think _Batman_ thinks.”

Tim blinked, honest confusion clouding his eyes, before he frowned and shrugged and stated, “I go where Bruce needs me.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t have another one for you.” Tim shook his head. Turned away and started to stretch out his arms. Calm and blanked-out again. A marionette.

The banked coals of his temper flared hot again. Kon spun, his vision suddenly bleeding red, and punched a small crater into the mirrored wall; a thousand shards and flecks of sparkling dust rained to the floor.  His frustration remained tensed in his muscles.

“I hate this so much!” he vented, “I was starting to like you! But—”

When he whirled back to face Tim once more, he found his husband perched atop the taller of the two uneven bars, face still doll-empty. But he tilted his head, and a hint of curiosity crept into his tone, as he wondered aloud, “Why?”

The angry conglomerate of emotions throbbing in his chest sputtered out as shock crashed over him. What the hell kind of question was that? But Tim kept _watching_ him, quiet and serious and so still. Kon’s breath left his chest in a huff.

“Why? Uh…Why do I like you? I—I’m not entirely sure. I look at you and I just… You’re fascinating and _hot_. Your eyes and your hair, a-and your mannerisms are just so endearing and,” Kon stopped his rambling and sighed, “I duno. I’m sure you hear this all the time.”

He raised his eyes to find Tim glaring at him incredulously.

“That’s an alarmingly unthought-out, delusional, _stupid_ , dangerous reason. Many of the world’s most dangerous people are disarmingly attractive,” Tim frowned.

“Including you?” Kon retorted with a smirk, only half joking. He raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled out nervously.

Tim just narrowed his eyes to slits of ice and leapt for the lower bar.

Impossibly, he looked all the more gorgeous in motion. Time to try to put the insecurities aside and be honest with himself. And Tim. Kon sighed, “Look, I don’t want to just co-exist, as you would say. I want to like you. I—I do like you, or I could like you, or…”

He trailed off as Tim’s expression remained, not empty anymore, but guarded and intensely serious. Kon knew Tim was studying and cataloguing everything with that genius brain he was supposed to have. Kon tried to look harmless and honest (not intimidating, but _charming_ ).

“Ah, you watching me like that makes it really hard to think,” Kon admitted.

“Sorry,” Tim looked away and Kon seized the opportunity to trace his eyes along Tim’s profile. “Can we just train?”

He sounded sad and bone-tired. Kon smiled gently, “Reached your word limit for the day?”

Tim gave one of those feather soft cough-laughs.

“More like the week,” he admitted.

Kon laughed, seemingly louder than usual in the awkward quiet. Tim started up his routine again, all graceful lines and sharp focus.


	4. Chapter 4

For all the early dramatics, Kon-El managed to maintain a relatively unobtrusive presence. He set up a target off the one side and seemed to work on refining his control of his heat-vision. He’d scrunch up his face and mutter and huff and sneak glances at Tim; he was easy enough to tune out, after the first dozen or so heart attacks. Flashes of red and a charred target apparently caused a spike of adrenaline. Who knew, right? But after about an hour and a half, Kon wandered out making some noises about food and lunch and Kryptonian stamina which Tim ignored in favor of concentrating on his current kata. It still didn’t feel as smooth as Tim’d like—as Bruce would expect.

So Tim worked.

And didn’t take note of the passage of time.

When he finally half stumbled out of the gym, intent on heading back to his room for one of Alfred’s delicious protein bars, late afternoon golden light chased him out the doorway, his shadow cast ahead. Lost in the replay of his final kata set in his head—making mental notes on where he could improve, eyes cast down—he practically walked directly into Superman’s chest not three steps into the hallway.

“Whoa, there!” Superman—Clark—smiled, his hands coming up to catch Tim’s shoulders, to steady. Tim could feel the Kryptonian heat through his lightly armored shirt and tensed tight as a whip snap. Clark hesitated before he actually touched, pulled away, and Tim took a conscious breath in to relax. All these shots of adrenaline—he’d crash hard as hell tonight. Favorable to his normal insomnia at least. But then, sleep sometimes felt like a waste of time when he reviewed what he had accomplished when he could have simply slept. He frowned. Annoying paradox. Not to be confused with the fascinating kind.

Clark kept talking, big broad smile on his face, just as the rest of him, and Tim figured he should at least act the good diplomat and tune back in.

“…be here. Have you really been here all day? Conner said this morning… have you taken a break or eaten? Tim, I’m not sure that’s the healthiest…”

Tim pressed his lips together against his reflexive, “I’m fine. I can handle it.”

Superman seemed to hear him anyway. Which was unfair. Kryptonian hearing had no advantage if he doesn’t say anything aloud.

“Ok, it’s alright,” Superman held his hands up and nudged forward with his foot a large, brown—apparently cardboard—box. The type standard for shipping. “I have something for you actually. No it’s alright, it’s from Jason really. Just tell him next time to let Alfred pack any gifts. The security guards did not appreciate the lead or the taser booby trap. Alfred doesn’t seem to have trouble with his care packages.”

Tim felt a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he swooped to pick up the package. Heavy. Must be solidly packed for its size. What had Jason sent him? Tim blinked and frowned and started back towards his room before he remembered the basic rules of social interaction probably mandated he say something to Superman.

Tim paused. Half-turned back.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered courteously.

Tim blushed and hurriedly resumed his trek to his one small sanctuary, embarrassed he couldn’t manage to speak any louder. But whispering would suffice, right? It wasn’t as if _Superman_ couldn’t hear it.

~*~

The door shut definitively behind him, the locks settling into place just a breath later. Solid. But not impenetrable. Not against what he might (inevitably) face; A determined Kryptonian wouldn’t be stopped by an electrified door. Tim knew that. And that knowledge made him uneasy in his bones, anxiety tickling out from his core across his fingertips. His stomach turned at the thought of even grabbing on of Alfred’s protein bars. No, he couldn’t eat _now_. Not with the worry overcastting everything else.

Tim set Jason’s package, suddenly too heavy to bear, next to his laptop on the desk. He turned and slid down the wall to the floor, knees to his chest, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Deep breaths that became hitched breaths, until Tim willed his breathing back under control. He couldn’t afford to lose control. One solid breath and Tim raised his head to let it thunk back against the wall. He closed his eyes.

 ~*~

He woke to pounding on his door; Kon’s excuse for knocking politely Tim guessed.

With an inaudible sigh, Tim rose gracefully to his feet and took the six or so steps to the door. He paused a beat before he disabled the locks and cracked the door open. The brightness of Kon’s smile almost prompted him to slam it shut again. Dick was the only one allowed to be that cheery without also being obnoxious.

“Hey!” Kon actually _bounced_ happily, “Dinner’s ready! You should join us! Karen is back from Central City! Negotiations with Flash and all that… they went well by the way. I think—”

 “I don’t think I can,” Tim cut across the rambling. “Not tonight Kon-El.”

 “Oh.” Kon’s face fell like a kicked puppy, “I thought… why?”

Tim frowned, “I just can’t.”

And he went to shut the door, but he blinked and Kon’s hand was up, bracing the door open. Tim’s breathing halted as dread clenched his heart and lungs in a vice. Opening the door had been an awful, stupid, rookie error. Of course he wasn’t Robin anymore. That mantel belonged to someone less naïve.

But Kon had respected his boundaries this morning. He’d thought they had made some headway in understanding each other, but it just goes to show: you can’t trust beings so powerful. They have no real restrictions, no reason to respect other physically weaker beings. Tim snarled internally. Then collected himself.

“Remove your hand from the door or I’ll set off the taser manually,” he stated in his calmest, ice-cold voice. The one he usually reserved for the worst scum of Gotham.

Kon didn’t move his hand, actually pushed inwards a little.

“Really?” he demanded, “I thought we’d made some headway this morning?”

Tim blinked at the echo of his own thoughts. Then shook his head.

“Obviously in the wrong direction,” Tim stated flatly.

Kon shook his head as if to clear it, “What? How’s that?”

Tim breathed to find his center, to push the now ever-present anxiety away. Then he explained, “It seems, for you, increased familiarity breeds camaraderie.  For me an increase in familiarity corresponds to an increase in understanding.”

Kon gaped at him, “Understanding? Like understanding you’re a dangerous freak?”

Tim felt his jaw clench, but he’d been called as much before. Many times. His whole life. Sometimes he wondered how accurate the accusation might be. Sometimes he recognized such a description hit right on target. He was freak.

“Understanding means knowing when to give me space,” Tim bit out.

Kon face twisted with frustration. His broad chest expanding with heavy breaths. He shook his head again, almost as if he could shake the world into making sense. Tim noted his clenched hands, swallowed around the thought of Kon losing his control and clenching those hands around his bicep or his neck and trying to shake some sense into him. Adrenaline, fueled by fear, felt like ice down his spine to settle uneasily in his gut.

“If all I ever give you is space, how are we supposed to make this work? How are we supposed to learn each other? To know each other? To… To be _married_!” Kon ranted.

Tim flushed with anger, confusion, and that drowning sense of anxiety. He didn’t _want_ to be married. He didn’t want to live in fear of Kon’s heated looks, in fear of all that power and how it might be abused. He wanted to be home in Gotham with Dick and Jason… with all his family. As that thought rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind Tim nearly choked on the loss and abandonment that came with it. He couldn’t do this.

“Please,” he whispered, trying desperately not to beg with his eyes, not to show panic or weakness, “Leave me alone now. Maybe your earnestness, your intentions, are true, but I don’t need anything from you.”

Kon looked stupefied, tilted head, mouth slightly ajar, hands dropping to his side. Tim shut the door in his Super, Kyptonian, unappealing face and quickly threw the locks.

~*~

He faced Jason’s box, weary, but curious as well, looking for some kind of hope. Jason was practical where Dick got sentimental. With any luck, Jason sent Tim something he could use to protect himself; He’d settle for something to keep him in control of his fears, of his mind. But just the box itself, knowing that not everyone has just left him here isolated and alone, helped.

Tim flicked a knife out of a compartment in his desk and set to opening the side of the package where the Kryptonians had obviously resealed it. Tim went slow, checked for wires, charges, anything that might be set off. He found remnants, but the Kryptonians seemed to have disabled everything.

Tim flipped the side open and out tumbled… a suit…

His breathing went shallow, his heart rate increased, fluttered, flew. He could hardly believe it. Red and black and gold. Kevlar and metal. Bandoliers and batarangs and a new bo staff. Everything he needed. Everything he _was_.

He ran his thumb over the new symbol. Not an R. Something else.

Tim searched the box thoroughly to see if he’d missed anything. He laid out every piece of the new uniform, every bit of equipment, on his dark red comforter to catalogue, to familiarize.

He found the note tucked into the new mask.

_For Red Robin._

Red Robin.

For him.


	5. Chapter 5

That…That was so not how he expected that conversation to go. Somehow when he’d rehearsed in his head everyone ended up sitting happily around the dinner table. He and Tim would talk, learn each other, and maybe Kon would get a peck on the cheek at the end of the night. Reasonable goal he’d thought.

But, nooooo. No no no no. That train derailed quickly, and messily.

His own anger had surprised him. He supposed at this point he should be used to Tim being a tense uptight little freak, but Kon thought of himself as an easygoing guy. Some dark patches in his mind, sure, some trauma to heal from, but mostly happy with life at this point. Now this stupid marriage _thing_.

If Kon could punch it in the face he would.

Tim made him lose control of his temper as if with a flip of a switch, leaving Kon bewildered and hollow in the aftermath. He just reached such new levels of frustration with the guy. Tim was fascinating, sure. Enthralling even. Gorgeous, if human. But also way too infuriating for his own good.

There he went. Dark thoughts again. His mind clouded over because of the Gotham freak back there. Behind that stupid freaking booby trapped door.

Before he knew it, Kon’s fist was through the wall where he’d punched it. Shit, Lois was going to have his head.

~*~

In Metropolis, Tim found that his anxiety came and went like an uneven dance of a high and low tide. Never died down completely; always waiting to swell up again. But in the new suit, he felt more secure, more at ease in his own skin. More free from this choking, stifling… _containment._ No Longer was he limited to a minute renovated office. Now, as he cut away a section of the window (this high up they didn’t open), the entire Metropolis skyline was his playground.

He shot off his grapnel and swung out into the night, his heart soaring, his body signing. He was back on the streets.

And not without a destination. He had a plan. He always had a plan.

The night air felt exhilarating on his face as always, but Tim quickly found his freedom being tempered yet again. Metropolis was too well lit; even the back alleys were brighter than Gotham’s, certainly. And well, some Kryptonians could fly. Tim had to be more careful with his ziplines and felt a pang of loss for nights chasing Dick as carefree as they could be on the streets, playing in the inky darkness of Gotham, giving those who looked up and saw them a jolt of well-deserved fear or a spot of hope… Not here. Here he was alone, in what felt like enemy territory, sticking to whatever meager shadows he could find.

He didn’t particularly want Red Robin’s existence to get back to the Supers just yet.

Although, Superman had seen what came in Jason’s package and had passed it along anyway.

Something to think on.

~*~

Tim halted on the roof across from what looked, from the outside, to be a warehouse. He touched the side of his mask and scanned the area for heat signatures. One Kryptonian, presumably a guard sitting and watching the security feeds, on the far side of the warehouse. Easily avoided. With swift precision, Tim threw three batarangs to sink into the wall next to each security camera. Activated and the screens would now show an empty innocent loop.

Tim indulged in one more flip on his way to the ground, landing softly next to one of the back doors. An electric lock on the door. Simple.  Tim hit a few buttons on his left gauntlet, accessing the mini computer. He put a corresponding device on the lock, a few lines of code, and he was in.

The ominous hallway on the other side was almost too cliché. Tim checked for more cameras (there weren’t any on the specs he’d gotten his hands on, but some paranoia was necessary to stay alive in this line of work) and, finding none, entered to hallway cautiously. The first lab was the third door on the left. Tim steeled himself for what he might see and sipped inside.

The chill of the room permeated everything. An operating table and a surgical kit took up the space in the center of the room. The walls were lined with computer screens and cabinets of chemicals. In one corner sat two large light stands, the type used to illuminate surgery. One for yellow light and one for red.

The remaining four labs were much the same. Tim quickly swept every room in the place (except the security room with the guard) both to set the charges and to double check no one remained in the building with a masked heat signature. Tim couldn’t leave here without making sure no humans had been kept overnight or against their will or whatnot. He found nothing, so he returned to the first lab and bee-lined to a computer to hack into. He didn’t even close the door behind him.

He perused some of the files as he downloaded as much as he could onto his usb drive. With his focus so intensely fixed on the screen he almost didn’t hear the soft beep of an electronic lock and the back door swinging open.

Shit.

A quick check with his heat vision lenses confirmed someone with Kryptonian body heat entering the building through the same door Tim had used.

Tim closed down the computer, grabbed his usb drive, and squeezed into a half empty cabinet. It wouldn’t matter. His heart rate sped and his breathing, though quiet, wouldn’t escape a Kryptonian’s hearing. Not within the same room. He was screwed.

As he listened to the footsteps approach, he closed his eyes and centered himself. It was ok. He’d been trained for this. Never mind that most Kryptonians had at least some level of super-strength, super-speed, invulnerability. Never mind this was the boogeyman he been warned about since he was twelve. He could handle it. He had to or he was dead.

The footsteps entered the lab, accompanied by muttering.

“Can’t believe I forgot, dammit… could be home already… wait.”

The footsteps stalked towards the cabinet where Tim had tucked himself away. He slipped on the brass knuckles (made with something a great deal stronger) spelled by Zatanna. He had to time this right.

He didn’t.

Tim braced himself to spring out, when the Kryptonian sprung forward literally inhumanly fast and ripped the door off its hinges to grab Tim’s arm and fling him across the lab.

His wings help to slow him down so he was able to kick off the wall and back towards the Kryptonian (in a lab coat, Tim noted. Probably one of the scientists here) rather than crashing into it. The scientist obviously did not except him to rally from that throw and was unprepared for Tim striking him hard across his face with the brass knuckles. Even less prepared for the hit to hurt thanks to Zatanna’s spellwork.

With the Kryptonian left shaking his head Tim flipped away and threw three batarangs in quick succession, that while they couldn’t sink into Kryptonian flesh, did send an electrical charge through the air three seconds after activation. The scientist screamed as the volts raced over his skin and through his body.

But he recovered quickly this time, surging forward to grab Tim around the neck and slam him into the nearest wall, crashing him through one of the computers. Tim grabbed the hand around his neck, for a sharp moment fear whiting out everything else. Oh god. He was at a Kryptonian’s mercy, he couldn’t—he couldn’t match up.

No, he snarled against that thought, against the sight of the scientists eyes glazed over in red. Tim snatched his taser from his utility belt, rammed it against the guys arm, and depressed the button.

The hand loosened against his neck. Left as the Kryptonian pulled away and Tim savagely pressed his advantage. He wasn’t weak; he wasn’t powerless. He could do this. He’d been trained to do this. He wouldn’t let Batman—Bruce—down by dying here. Dick would kill him. Jason too.

He struck out, hitting with the brass knuckles over and over, flipping around to hit from new angles, to keep the guy off balance. He grit his teeth in a fierce smile with each grunt he beat out of this twisted fuck of a scientist.

But nothing could account for the reality of super-speed.

A hand closed once again around his arm, lightning fast, and then Tim felt the crippling impact with the floor. He couldn’t help it; he cried out in shock and pain, the sound carried out as all his air left his lungs. He gasped just as the Kryptonian brought his foot down on Tim’s chest, not hard enough to crush him, but enough to keep him in place.

In that instant, Tim realized he’d dropped his taser. Probably when the hand around his neck had released him and he’d lunged forward thinking of nothing but the fear driving him.

Not only fear of death, but fear of failure. A sloppy mistake. And it would cost him.

His thoughts blanked out at the unending unrelenting weight stifling his ability to breathe, staining his ribcage, as the scientist slowly began to apply more pressure to Tim’s chest. He felt the sickening crack of at least one of his ribs, the break pouring pure agony into his veins. He tried to take in a breath, tried not to hyperventilate from the adrenaline. Tried not to think about one of his ribs going through a lung. Please, no.

The scientist laughed down at the sight of Tim being slowly crushed into the unforgiving concrete, “You must be one of the Bat’s boys. Obviously the one sold off? Timothy is it? Why do you bats even continue with the masks when we all know who you are?”

Tim snarled again and tried to hit any pressure points within reach, but he couldn’t get the angle on the knuckles right and the scientist just laughed more at his struggles.

“Did you really think you could stop this Robin?” the scientist grinned darkly, “There are forces far beyond what your primitive human brain can comprehend at work here. This is just the beginning. You won’t be around for the end.”

Tim thrashed in desperation and then… with a blur of red and black across his vision, the pressure was gone.

Tim sat up, coughing, each hitch of breath an experience in bitingly hot torture. He’d had ribs broken before, sure. But something about the deliberateness of this, about the level of fear that had gripped him—worse than Scarecrow’s toxic even; that he had anti-toxins and the knowledge that his fear was ungrounded—left him so disregulated, so off-balance, so far gone he couldn’t even control his own breathing. Couldn’t siphon off the pain through meditation or calm the hitch making each breath a dagger. Couldn’t even lift himself off the floor as he watched Superboy hold the bastard scientist in place with his TTK and wail on the guy with fists until he simply passed out and Kon was left chest heaving, eyes red, fists clenched as he turned towards Tim.

There was a reason with all the Kryptonians on Earth the Supers were still the Supers. They were just that much more powerful and, moreover, knew how the use their abilities.

Tim shuddered, one arm wrapped around his chest, still only kneeling as another shot of fear-induced adrenaline hit his bloodstream. What was he married to?

With a clenched jaw, Tim started to rise to his feet—Kon was approaching him and Tim _would_ be standing to face him—but Kon perfunctorily scooped him up bridal-style and flew them out the door before Tim could even squawk in surprise.

He did belatedly as Kon flew them down the hallway and up out into the night air. An as soon as Kon’s feet touched down on the warehouse roof, Tim was pushing at his chest and trying to squirm loose.

“Dammit Kon! Put me down!” Tim demanded.

Kon huffed, “Alright, alright, jeez.”

But he put Tim on his feet with more gentleness then his tone implied, keeping one hand ghosting on the small of Tim’s back as if to steady him. Tim stepped away and whirled with a snap of his currently loose wings to shove at Kon’s chest again. He did not like being the damsel in distress and he certainly did not appreciate the care Kon was exhibiting now.

Save from death, ok. Intimate touching, no.

“What are you doing here Superboy?” Tim asked bitingly.

“Well,” Kon brought a hand up to rub at the back of his own neck, the picture of sincere earnestness, “I came back to your room to apologize for losing my temper—”

Tim raised an eyebrow in skepticism at Kon’s motives. Was this guy seriously for real? Kon with all his swagger, would take a step down to Tim’s level to apologize? Why? That didn’t sound like him, regardless of the contrite look on his face now.

“—Kara’s idea,” Kon continued, “but when I realized you weren’t inside I tracked you to here.”

“How?”

Kon suddenly looked embarrassed.

“I listened for your heartbeat,” He admitted.

Tim felt a cold shiver pass through him. He blinked, trying to maintain his image of impassivity.

“You know my heartbeat,” Tim asked softly, more like a questioning statement. Because he was a masochist like that. He didn’t want to hear Kon’s answer. He felt thrown enough.

“Yes,” Kon answered simply, dropping his hand to his side and obviously trying to impart something with his eyes.

A heavy silence fell between them. Uncomfortable in the quiet—where usually he reveled in it—Tim shifted minutely, awkwardly. Avoided Kon’s eyes and whatever message they held.

Kon shifted back on his heels, smiling tentatively, “Lucky for you, huh?”

He probably didn’t mean it mockingly, Tim knew that rationally but the asshole line felt mocking, reminding Tim he had needed that rescue. And in that moment Tim hated. Hated the situation, hated Kon and his stupid glowy Superboy suit (real subtle that) and Metropolis and Batman for leaving him here and all of it.

“I had it under control.” He could hardly get the words out at a whisper, lest he scream them into the too bright skyline.

“Right,” Kon said skeptically, obviously missing all the cues emanating off Tim like a bright flashy warning sign.

Tim looked away, trying to reign himself in. Punching Superboy would only make his hand hurt, except he had the brass knuckles. He’d make a dent. Tim’s pressed his lips into a thin line. Yah, he’d make a dent. Maybe Kon would leave him the fuck alone then.

“Tim, you’re human,” Kon blurted out, “You would have died!”

Thanks Kon for reminding me of that. Tim jabbed out at Kon’s face. Surprise attack, the blow landed and Kon stumbled back with a stupefied expression.

“What..?”

“Exactly I’m human,” Tim yelled. “And how is an average human being supposed to feel safe surrounded by beings who could break him in half or fry him with a look or—”

Kon bristled, his hands again clenched, his eyes once more bleeding red.

“And we’re supposed to feel comfortable with a violet paranoid man in possession of a heaping pile of Kryptonite isolating the entire population of a city, filing their minds with who knows what—” he roared back.

Tim blinked and felt his heart beat rise. He shouldn’t have done that. Punched Kon. Not only for his own personal safety, but for the sake of the treaty. Some emissary he was shaping up to be. He tried not the picture Bruce’s disapproving face, but the image seeped into his mind regardless.

Tim took a deep breath.

“Neither side wants _war_ , Kon-El,” he said to remind himself as well, he need to , “The extent of the resources Batman and Superman dedicated to this peace treaty is evidence of that.”

“ _Resources_?” Kon continued to roar, now advancing on Tim, TTK crackling around him, “We aren’t _resources_. We’re their _family_. You get the difference, right? I mean, Batman is supposed to be your dad!”

Tim fought the instinct to step back as Kon got right in his face, “He is my adopted father, yes.”

“He’s supposed to protect you!”

“He does.”

Kon shook his head to process. Seemed to be a habit, that. Tim filed the tidbit of information away. Because even here and now, he couldn’t help it.

Kon growled, “He left you in the company of a people he taught you were too dangerous to have as neighbors!”

That hit. Hard. Big red hurt button pushed. Tim struggled to not show it, not to give Kon any satisfaction. His family cared for him. They did. Sacrifices were necessary for the mission. They all made them.

“I’m unsure what you are trying to say Kon-El,” Tim managed to say evenly, “Bruce loves me as much as he is able. You won’t convince me otherwise.”

“I don’t… I don’t get you lot,” Kon raged. But then he seemed to deflate; he shook his head and took half a step back from Tim. Tim didn’t relax just yet. He couldn’t.

“Xenophobic sociopaths, the whole freaking—” Kon muttered as he turned away.

Tim tilted his head. He wanted to grit his teeth and let annoyance flood him. The anger felt good, helped him ignore the physical pain and the emotional hurt, but it all drained away from him when Kon retreated, turned his back.

Tim found himself giving a small quirk of his mouth—an honest grin—and a raised eyebrow.

“I know my hearing isn’t Kryptonian, but I can still hear you.” He teased with a sharp edge. Not all the anger had dissipated _just_ yet.

Kon turned and grinned back ruefully in apology, “What were you doing here anyway? What’s with the hidden lab?”

Tim, grateful for the change of subject, went into lecture mode, which helped settle him more. Facts, cases, deduction did that for him.

“Not all humans look upon Kryptonians with a cautious eye,’ Tim began explaining.

“Of course not,” Kon scoffed, “They _get_ we aren’t here to conquer or whatever you bats think we’re doing.”

“Well, there are, of course, some Kryptonians who take advantage of those naïve enough to trust them,” Tim rejoined, “Specifically in this case, scientists who offer to ‘cure’ humans of their humanity, to help them ascend to the same level as Kryptonians, who want willing bodies to experiment on; Kryptonians who hide in back alley labs and leave twisted, mutilated bodies in their wake.  Some mercifully dead, some still alive.”

“What?” And there was that stupefied face again.

“A few survivors, disillusioned and crippled, moved to Gotham where I found and listened to their horror stories,” Tim continued, “I couldn’t do much but build a case in Gotham, but now in Metropolis I have an opportunity and I _will_ shut these labs down. I would think you of all people would understand.”

Kon seemed not to hear the sharp barb, staring in the middle distance.

“How would we not know about this?” Kon asked, more rhetorical than anything else, his hands coming up to his hips as he took a stance obviously habitual and comforting to him.

“You might want to pay a little more attention to your “crime free” city. And your supposed universally good-hearted people,” Tim said to drive the point home. Kryptonians can and did abuse their power. They aren’t some saintly race. They could be threats no average human could defend against.

Kon just sighed, stupidly reaching out for Tim’s arm, “Well, there is nothing left to do tonight. We should—”

Tim shied away, “There’s plenty left to do tonight! I’m blowing the lab and then I’m moving on to the next one.”

Kon blinked and shook his head, “Infiltrating this one almost got you killed!”

“Part of the job.” Tim answered calmly, “I’m surprised you care.”

“Of course I care!” Kon yelled, his arms failing.

Tim took a moment to process that. He supposed he shouldn’t actually be surprised. Kon had been pushy to get to know him, but Tim had thought that had been Kon’s duty. That’s certainly how Tim regarded allowing Kon to even try. Maybe he cared simply in a “life is sacred” sort of way. That would be easier to deal with. Tim wanted more than anything to stay distanced, but Kon knew Tim’s heartbeat. What did Tim _do_ with something like that?

Tim closed his eyes for just a second to center himself, then quietly, he offered, “Well then, I suppose you should come along.”

Kon just glared at him, “Or I could just drag you back to the Daily Planet. You must be one big bruise. You wouldn’t be able to stop me. Even uninjured you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Tim almost felt like he was choking, his stomach and lungs twisting. And there it was. That abuse. Too much power. Too much.

“Don’t be so sure,” Tim bluffed, “But if you even try, know you’ll lose whatever ground you’ve gained with me.”

Kon snorted, “There’s not much to lose.”

Tim licked his lips, took a breath, and answered more honestly than he’d even been with himself the last few weeks, “There’s a lot of potential to lose.”

Kon perked right up, with half a hopeful grin.

“Fine,” he relented, trying for aloof, as though he could Tim’s admission in stride, “Where’s the next lab?”

But then he reached for Tim again.

“You’re not flying me,” Tim stated flatly, “I’m swinging.”

“If I carry you, it’ll be faster,” Kon cajoled.

“No.”

And that was that.


	6. Chapter 6

Kon was drowning. And he didn’t know what to do about it, couldn’t start to know what would allow his lungs to gasp in air again. How did anyone handle this weight in their chest? How did they deal with this bone-aching worry? This vice-like fear? It poked with alarming accuracy right at the dark core inside him. All the rage, self-doubt, and angst he’d been trying to ignore—everything he’d been resolutely keeping aside with jokes and boyish smiles—flooded him.

All from the full realization of Tim’s human fragility. Kon still felt his terror at hearing Tim cry out across the city, his horror of seeing that monster crushing the life from his husband ( _that_ word still sounded weird, or maybe not, maybe it didn’t have to) prickling under his skin, much like a low jolt of electricity.

And from the realization that he…

Well, that he cared for Tim much more than he thought. The reactions Tim pulled out of him… Kon shook his head against it. Anger at the criminal who would dare, worry that a light breeze might topple Tim over, a fierce protectiveness and possessiveness. Tim was his. Above all, his to keep safe.

He cared for Tim. At this point he might end up with a Tim shaped hole were anything to happen to him. Kon didn’t even know when it happened—when this _Robin_ of all people, a prince of his enemy, wormed his way in the small selective ranks of those Kon gave two shakes about in anything more than an altruistic way.

What was it? His vulnerability? That overwhelming sadness Kon took as a challenge to lift? That seriousness Kon took as a challenge to break? That sharp intelligence? Maybe even just his looks, however shallow that made Kon feel? Obviously not his ability to hold a civil conversation…

Kon looked over at the focus of his thoughts, who was already moving to the edge of the roof, his long-ish black hair obscuring most of his face in profile, his mask covering those icy blue eyes.

Kon had to. He had to take just half a minute to admire how awesome the suit (however much he disapproved of the suit and all it represented) made Tim look. How it accentuated everything just right. The line of Tim’s silhouette was doing things to him… and ok, focus Kon. Focus.

Not of the line of Tim’s back.

Kon sighed.

“So I won’t carry you,” Kon relented. “Where’s the next lab then?”

“There’s things to finish up here first,” Tim said in his this-is-dire-and-important voice. So, his normal tone.

Kon huffed in frustration, “What’s to finish up? We won, right? Well, _I_ won.”

Tim scowled, but otherwise didn’t rise the bait Kon just couldn’t help but throw out there.

Calmly, Tim explained, “A scientist or doctor or researcher or whoever that was, is probably replaceable. We need to put the lab out of commission.”

Kon frowned. He thought he saw where this was going, and all from the guy who’d once lectured him _on_ destruction of property, public and private.

“So when you say ‘out of commission’…” Kon trailed off.

Tim nodded, “I mean I already set the charges.”

And with that Tim pulled out of his utility belt a trigger. He calmly flipped the switch the reveal the classic red button.

Kon took a moment to gape at him.

“Go grab the unconscious scientist and the security guard. Then we’ll blow this place and drop those two off at a police station.” Tim said in a very business-like voice, like he said things like this all the time. Like blowing up buildings intentionally was routine.

“ _What?_ ” Kon crossed his arms in front of his chest in, hopefully, an intimidating and serious manner, “Shit. I heard you say that earlier and it went right by me. You’re crazy. I mean—Look, I don’t know how you guys do things in Gotham, but here we have due process, we have procedures. We don’t just blow shit up and leave—”

“I won’t get into an argument with _you_ over modus operandi. Not tonight. I have evidence against those Kryptonians. The police will have grounds to hold them on,” Tim said calmly, “And as for the lab, if we don’t disrupt their infrastructure, they’ll find another scientist or doctor and some more security and be back to hurting people within a few days.”

Kon glared for what felt like ages. Tim didn’t glare back, but he met Kon’s glare steadily, unwaveringly. The tension charged the air between them, making Kon almost itch. He shifted. Started to float a few inches off the roof. Not that he needed the extra height to look daunting. He already towered over Tim, who for his part appeared entirely unfazed.

Kon sighed and relented for the second time (hopefully not the beginning of a habit). He just… Tim made a twisted sort of sense. And Kon was certain Tim’s convection was set and his patience much more practiced than Kon’s.

“Fine,” Kon huffed gruffly, and flew over the edge of the rooftop to fetch the two as Tim wanted. No he was absolutely was _not_ whipped.

~*~

As soon as Kon disappeared over the ledge of the building, Tim allowed himself to curl into himself against the pain, to wrap one arm around his chest and breathe a little heavier, to bite his lip and fall to his knees. He didn’t cry out or whimper or moan despite the fierce impetus to do so. He couldn’t. Kon would hear and Tim didn’t need to look any weaker in the Kryptonian’s eye than he already did.

Tim took a minute. The foundation he’d been standing on, the adrenalin, was crumbing away under his feet, leaving him to _feel_. Everything. His—his chest. Like agony. Kon was right, he was one big bruise and more. Broken, or at least cracked, if Tim guessed right. And he usually did.

He was running short of time until Kon returned. He needed to pull himself back together. Tim focused, just like Bruce had taught him. Pain. Pain was just—just stimuli to the brain. It existed only to communicate and Tim had gotten the message. Now to just separate himself from the pain. Distance himself in his mind and breathe. A long exhale and he stood upright. He let his arm drop to his side and smoothed out his face just as Kon came flying back with one scumbag in each hand. Tim grinned, though it was forced past the wall of pain currently separating him from the world.

Tim gestured for Kon to follow, took two steps away from the warehouse set to blow and stopped. Closed his eyes, swayed, and swallowed his pride.

“Kon,” Tim forced out through his gritted teeth, “I think my ribs are broken. At least two.”

“ _What?_ ”

Kon dropped the two guys on the roof and flew to Tim’s side. There in literally a second. He put his hand lightly, hesitantly, on Tim’s shoulder and Tim deigned not to shrug it off.  Not because it felt good (felt steadying). He just didn’t have the energy to deal with anything but not giving in to that increasingly intense urge to moan against the white hot agony in his bones.

“I—he stepped on me, and the suit can only mediate so much, and…” Tim quickly realized he was rambling and got to the point. “I’m fairly certain my ribs are broken and the adrenaline is running out. Has run out. I need to watch for signs of shock.”

As if summoned by his words, Tim began to shiver.

“Ok,” Kon said, looking worried. “Ok, what do I do? I’ve never…”

He’d never dealt with something like this before. Tim could fill in the rest. His entire family was freaking invulnerable. Of course he’d never dealt with broken bones or shock. Fucker.

Tim scowled, “We stick to the plan.”

And with that Tim depressed the button on the trigger and the warehouse next to their rooftop went up in flames and smoke. Debris, flaming bits of wood and plaster, flew their way. Tim instinctively dropped to his knees and brought up his wings to shield himself. Kon, probably being a stupid knight in shining armor, crouched over him.

When the warehouse became more smoke than flame, one huge column mucking up Metropolis’ pristine skyline, Kon slowly pulled away.

“You’re insane,” He announced, dead serious.

Tim grinned a little. Freak. Insane. Sociopath. He’d heard it all before. He’d hear it again.

But at least this time there was no disgust coloring the words.

Kon sighed and held his hands out in front of his chest in a placating manner, “Are you going to let me carry you now or are really going to try your ‘bat-lines’ when you can barely stand?”

“I can stand.” And Tim did to prove his point, despite having to hug himself to keep the shivering in check. He nodded at the two knocked-out Kryptonians, “Besides you need to carry them.”

Kon scowled at him and took a step closer, “Tim—”

“Red Robin.”

“Like everyone doesn’t know who the Bats are nowadays! _Tim,_ I’m carrying you home. I can hear the police on their way. We’ll leave the goons for them here.”

Tim measured his options for half a moment, eyes darting from the Kryptonians facedown on the concrete roof to the half-Kryptonian holding his hand out looking mature for once to the smoke plume blocking out a swath of the light of the city and down at his own feet.

“Fine,” he conceded and handed over the small usb drive (after double checking to verify the info had already been downloaded onto his gauntlet computer; he would need that info to further the investigation). Kon scooped it from his hand and tugged the doctor/scientist up by hi collar to his knees. He tucked the usb drive neatly into the front pocket of the white lab coat, next to a mundane black pen. He then grabbed up the security guard in his other hand and flew them both back in front of the warehouse where the authorities would find them easily.

Tim blinked slowly, pressing his lips together to stay composed, to stay upright, and Kon was back and grinning.

“What?” Tim raised an eyebrow.

Kon just kept grinning, “I used my heat vision to burn “arrest us” into the asphalt next to them.”

He obviously thought that was terribly witty. He looked like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head, tail wagging.

“Amusing,” Tim said dryly.

Kon dropped his grin with a habitual huff. Now he just looked annoyingly concerned.

“C’mon,” he said, reaching hesitantly for Tim again, “Let’s get you home.”

No. Not home. The Daily Planet. But Tim let Kon take him gently into his arms anyway, one arm under his knees and one supporting his back. Kon’s chest felt broad and warm and Tim _hurt_. He closed his eyes.


End file.
